tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563341799283837855.post472871482904246475..comments2011-08-25T18:25:01.526-06:00Comments on Kim McKee: Censorship and driftwoodKim McKeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17164783239916380578noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1563341799283837855.post-61163726644106909922011-08-23T08:51:11.637-06:002011-08-23T08:51:11.637-06:00Hey, from Karl in Virginia City. See you had a se...Hey, from Karl in Virginia City. See you had a series of quakes today. Did you feel them?<br /><br />Liked your &#39;driftwood&#39; poem, Kim. Here&#39;s one in return.<br /><br />Fukushima, Passamari, Spring<br /><br />Bow-legged two-legged, leaning on his hoe<br />peers for garlic, late beneath the plum.<br />Cuffs unbuttoned cut the wind like wings.<br />He veers a stretch of sky between limbs<br />and bed, tallying spears as if a golden<br />gauging hares. Planes his friends insist<br />don&#39;t spray poison for many good reasons<br />and returning geese persist against<br />the pelt of fronts. A neighbor&#39;s tom<br />deserves his adulation. Clouds decay<br />to cumulus and haze when no fields burn.<br />Fat Mouse dies without a kick in yellow grass.<br />Orach cotyledons pool in paths like blood.<br /><br />Early spinach vernal under hog fence hoops<br />and plastic from the dump needs safe water <br />from the county&#39;s deepest well. Still, rain<br />threatens, at a hundred counts per minute,<br />not him so much but kids who play next door.<br />When did the world&#39;s backup generators seize?<br />The missing witness, shoeless on the tape, <br />muttering, stumbled- on by mistake<br />in a landfill heap. And this newest war,<br />when were there debates? He leans on stone<br />to sort intrusive roots from wanted stock.<br />One wind whips the town&#39;s flags all directions.<br /><br />Doves weight air a gray he shoulders<br />like a bar. Admitting defeat so late and far<br />from sanctuary waves, snow geese argue<br />security measures all the way to straw. Truth<br />is north and hurts worse faced head on.<br />Land a million peasants hoed subsides<br />while dying aspens turn silver he can&#39;t save<br />and nations crash in gardens like the sea.<br />Aerosol merges dark as news in sky<br />when sun unwinds in tongues that peel his ears.<br />Teetering worlds lose bearings like bickering geese.<br />He takes the dog whose eyes beg for a walk.<br />She shows him when you turn you&#39;re halfway home.<br /><br />-G. Karl Marcus<br />March, 2011rockpickerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15705284555868707898noreply@blogger.com